Pleading Echoes
by Mask of Twilight
Summary: 13 years after the Labyrinth, Sarah returns to her childhood home. The house is now abandoned due to rumours of its "haunted" state, but it's not ghosts who lurk in the shadows, but echoes of the Underground.
1. Chapter I

_Pleading Echoes_  
Mask of Twilight  
  
_Summary:_ Thirteen years after her experience in the Labyrinth, Sarah returns to the home where she spent her childhood years. Her father and stepmother have passed away, and Toby is long gone, leaving the house abandoned. No one has purchased it for years, which leads Sarah to question the possible reasons why. Perhaps it's because of the rumours spread about town, rumours of voices and odd noises echoing through the hallways and bedrooms of the small, two-story house. Perhaps it's because of the "ghost owl" which frequently taps on the windows. Sarah's investigation leads to a discovery that not even her wild imagination could conjure. A series of _Labyrinth_ vignettes.  
  
_Rating:_ PG  
  
_Chapter I:  
_  
The old woman drew back the curtain tentatively to peek outside. Her gray eyes squinted as the bright sunlight trickled through the opening, her mass of wrinkles and bags causing her eyes to practically disappear. The bleary form of a woman stood upon the front doorstep, shifting from foot to foot nervously. The old woman sighed and slowly rose to a wobbly standing position. Stretching out her bony fingers, she reached for a nearby cane. Grasping its head, she gradually made her way to the door. _Ding dong!_ "Aam comin', aam comin'," she croaked. "Don' get yo' pantehs en a waad." Steadying herself with the cane, the old woman slowly opened the door and peered her head outside. "Wat do ya' want, misse? Ya' don' hafta disturb an ol' ladeh waal' she's restin' naw, do ya'?"   
  
The young woman attempted a smile. "I'm very sorry to wake you, Mrs. Stafford. You probably don't remember me, but I used to live next door. My name is Sarah Williams. I'm moving back in and was told you have the house key."  
  
Mrs. Stafford frowned. "A wasn't asleep, A was restin'," she grumbled. "A rememba' ya' well, Sarah. A rememba' wat a lil' scamp ya' was, aalways deggin' up ma flowas ta plaant beans. Thawt they'd graw inta magic beanstawks." She shook her head at the ludicrous notion.   
  
Sarah looked sheepish. "I'm very sorry about that, Ma'am. I was rather silly as a child."  
  
The old woman nodded her grizzled head. "Mowst chillen' awe." She lifted a hand and gestured for Sarah to come inside.   
  
Sarah sipped a cup of tea while Mrs. Stafford searched for the house key. She had offered to help the woman, but her elder had insisted on finding it herself. "A was tha one who lost it, so Aa'll be tha one ta fin' it." As Mrs. Stafford shuffled through papers and looked under crocheted blankets, Sarah looked about the dim room in which she sat. The yellowed, floral wallpaper was mostly covered up by black-and-white photographs from long ago. A table across the room supported a yellowed cloth doily on which stood an antique vase full of aged silk flowers. More small, framed photos were placed upon the table, depicting stern faces and straight posture. Littered at Sarah's feet were a dozen or more cassette tapes, and an old tape-player sat nearby. Curious, Sarah bent down and picked up one of the tapes. She read the bold letters, _The Wind in the Willows_. Smiling, Sarah picked up another. _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_ greeted her eyes, followed by another which read, _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_. They were books on tape, most of them books Sarah had read herself as a child.   
  
"Ah! A knew it'd be he'ah somewhe'ah," Mrs. Stafford's voice filtered in from another room. Sarah quickly sat back up and resumed sipping her tea. She reacted so quickly, however, that more tea was drawn into her mouth than intended. Sputtering and choking because of the hot drink, she frantically spat some back into the cup, simultaneously reaching for the cloth napkin which had been brought out for her use.  
  
Mrs. Stafford slowly creaked into the room, frowning at the sight which greeted her eyes. "A don' know haw yo' goin' ta manage livin' alone in tha' hawse ahl by yoself if ya' can' even drink tea withou' chokin'."   
  
Sarah looked sheepish once more. Wiping her mouth daintily with the napkin, she tried to regain some composure. "I'm sure I'll be fine, Mrs. Stafford. I've lived alone ever since college, and I haven't killed myself yet," she said with a forced smile.  
  
The old woman raised her eyebrows, obviously unconvinced. A small grunt broke from her throat as she sat down in an armchair near to Sarah. The younger woman reached out an arm to help, but Mrs. Stafford waved it away. "Aa've mastuhed tha awt of livin' alone," she grumbled. "So don' even think ya' can boast abou' yo' accomplishmens." She picked up her own cup of tea with trembling hands and carefully stirred a lemon slice into the golden-brown liquid.   
  
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment as Sarah watched the old woman savor her tea. The young woman never knew quite how to act around...well, older people. They always seemed to move so slowly, as if they had all the time in the world to enjoy life. It seemed that as soon as Sarah stepped into this abode, time decided to take the day off. Only the soft, rhythmic tick of the dusty-faced clock on the wall told her otherwise.   
  
"Naw," Mrs. Stafford said. It wasn't that loud of an utterance, but in the confined room it seemed to be ten times louder. Sarah tried to cover up her startled jump by reaching for her napkin as the woman continued her sentence. "Aa've gawt the key fo' ya' right he'ah," she patted a shiny, silver key sitting on the end table which stood between the two armchairs.   
  
"Oh, thank you," said Sarah, reaching for the key. Her hand was stopped, however, by the old woman's veiny fingers.   
  
"Naw, wait just a minute, the'ah," she croaked. "The'ah's somethin' A want ta tell ya' abou' tha' hawse."  
  
Sarah's forehead wrinkled. "Yes, Mrs. Stafford?"  
  
The old woman sat back and took a long sip of tea, as if reaching for the key had exhausted her. After a moment she spoke, "Naw, Sarah, A know yo've lived en tha' hawse befo'ah, but it's...a bit differen' naw."  
  
Sarah nodded, suddenly understanding. "Oh yes, Mrs. Stafford, I've already been informed about the new plumbing and heating system--"   
  
"Stupid girl," the old woman muttered. "A wasn' goin' ta tell ya' abou' the daam plumbin'."   
  
Sarah quickly shut her mouth. She'd obviously upset the woman, and didn't want to annoy her any further.  
  
"A was goin' ta tell ya' abou' the _voices_."   
  
Sarah blinked. Voices? What was this woman going on about? "I, uh, I'm not quite sure what you mean, Ma'am."  
  
"Oh, ya' he'ah et awl tha time around he'ah. Kids sneakin' en ta see tha 'haunted hawse.'" She laughed throatily. "They alwas come screamin' an' yellin' out of it like the devil hiself were afta them. 'Cowse, no one believes 'em but me, an' A only do because A live next do'r an' can he'ah it maself."  
  
Despite herself, Sarah couldn't help but become intrigued by the woman's words. "Hear what exactly, Mrs. Stafford?"  
  
"Ahl sorts of things. Whispahs an' screams, lotsa laughin'. Not happy laughin' eitha'. Sometimes A he'ahs strange chatterins', like birds en a way. Sometimes the'ahs glass shatterin', but no real glass to be foun'. Oh, an' then the'ah's tha owl," she said, sitting up slightly. "It's tha only thing ya' can actually _see_. It's alwas ou'side tha hawse, peckin' on tha windaws. A use' ta think it was a real, regular owl, but then A saw it liked ta disappe'ah ahl a sudden."   
  
The woman took another sip of tea. She looked at Sarah over the rim of her teacup, gray eyes sparkling. "Oh, don' worry," she said grumpily when she saw Sarah's frown. "A don' just he'ah bad things." She looked in the direction of the window facing Sarah's house. "Sometimes at night, A he'ah a lovely man's voice singin'. Jus' like a lullaby, it is."  
  
Sarah closed her eyes. She recalled distantly the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. One she would never hear again. She called herself back to reality and opened her eyes. She couldn't waste her time on dreams and wishes. She had realized long ago that once you grow up, they never come true. Just like Mrs. Stafford's "haunted hawse" was nothing more than a fairy tale.   
  
"Thank you for the warning, Mrs. Stafford," she said swiftly, placing her drained teacup upon the table. "I'll keep that in mind." Reaching for the key, she was relieved that this time the old woman didn't stop her from retrieving it. "I enjoyed chatting with you," she said jovially. "I'll stop by again sometime."  
  
The old woman laughed her throaty laugh once more. "No ya' didn' and no ya' won'," she said cynically.   
  
Sarah didn't bother to contradict her, but waved and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunshine. "Mission accomplished," she said to herself, looking at the key. She then walked a short distance down the sidewalk towards the house where she had spent her past, and where she would now spend her future. 


	2. Chapter II

_Pleading Echoes_

__-Mask of Twilight

_Chapter II_

Sarah looked at the old, familiar house that she had never really called 'home'. The white paint still looked new, and overall the house looked the same as it always did. The surrounding foliage was a bit overgrown, but nothing she couldn't quickly take care of. Climbing the front porch steps, Sarah took out the key which Mrs. Stafford had given her. Inserting it into the lock, she swung the door open. She hesitated for a brief moment, recalling the rumours which her neighbor had informed her of. Shaking her head, Sarah whispered to herself, "She's just a senile old woman, Sarah. Don't listen to her stories." She stepped into the pool of sunshine on the entrance's hardwood floor, then shut the door behind her. As the sunlight left her in the dim foyer, Sarah couldn't help but feel a great emptiness in the pit of her stomach. This house held no fond memories for her. She had always tried to escape its boring and trivial realities through fantasies and daydreams.

Her life, till now, had been based upon those fantasies. After high school and two idle years spent at a university, Sarah decided to pursue a career in acting. She had been involved in school plays in her teenage years, and she had always held a passion for the art. Her dreams merely allowed her to envision herself in far off places, but acting gave her the opportunity to live her fantasies, even if only on a stage. She was blind to the wooden scenery and the painted faces. To her, everything was real. Until the true reality of life set itself to diminish her imaginative mind. Her father and stepmother were killed by a head-on collision with a maniacal driver. Toby was committed to his aunt's care, who in turn sent him to boarding school. Sarah, who had been partially living off donations from her parents, realized that acting was now getting her nowhere. She couldn't continue to live off of what little she earned for her performances. Her one escape from reality was taken from her.

And now here she was, back in the house which she hadn't stepped into for nine years. She had attempted to sell the place, after her parents passed away. It was now two years since that tragic accident, and the small, two-story building held no interest for any house-touring customers. It was now Sarah's self-appointed task to find out why.

Sarah wandered throughout the empty and disquieting house. All the furniture was still there, as well as most of the knick-knacks her parents had collected over the years. It was strange, standing amidst the visible memories of their lives. She almost expected them to walk right in, coming home from one of their numerous outings she had always been excluded from.

The woman wandered back into the entrance hall, headed for the stairs. As she passed, she glanced fondly at the old grandfather clock which had stood there as long as she could remember. She'd always thought of it as a comforting friend. As a child she would often lay down in front of it, listening to the gentle _tick-tock_, watching the pendulum swing back and forth. Her father would always later find her there, fast asleep, Lancelot tucked under one arm.

Sarah ascended the stairs, which creaked slightly under her step. Reaching the top, she flicked the nearby light-switch. The hallway remained dim, only lit by the sunshine that filtered through a downstairs window. "Hmm," Sarah murmured to herself. "I'll need to change that bulb." She continued her way down the hall, peering into her parents' bedroom as she passed. She quickly turned away. While she had accepted their death long ago, it was still discomforting knowing that they had lain there once, sleeping peacefully.

Instead, she wandered to her own bedroom. Stepping inside, she switched on the light. "Thank you," she said to no one in particular as the lights flashed on. She sat down on her old bed, not quite sure what to do next. She had come here to see why the house wouldn't sell, and her brief inspection uncovered no logical reasoning behind the mystery. Everything seemed in order.Sarah sighed, irritated at the situation. She glanced about the room, trying to decide what to do with the rest of her evening. A nostalgic smile passed across her face as she took in all the items which represented her childhood. Her teddy bears still sat in their cubbies on the wall, her theatrical posters still hung where she remembered tacking them up. Her books lay slumped over on their shelf, as the bookends had disappeared long ago. Many things had disappeared from her room the year before high school began, childish things which Sarah had no interest in keeping.

_RING!_ Sarah jumped, a small cry of surprise escaping her lips. She put her hand over her beating heart before rushing downstairs to answer the insistent phone's cry. But in her haste, she tripped over the last step and went sprawling onto the hardwood floor. She listened vainly to the last ring of the telephone as she attempted to get up. "Ow..." she muttered, rubbing her probably bruised elbow. "Great, Sarah, just great. What if that call was important?" She glared back at the obtrusive step. Immediately, her forehead crinkled in confusion. Upon the step lay a mask. Lifting herself to her feet, Sarah picked the mask up for inspection. It was very ornate, like what one would wear to a masquerade ball. But what was it doing here? She'd never seen it before, and she was positive that it hadn't been on the step on her first venture upstairs.

Sarah frowned, a slight shiver causing her skin to raise in little bumps. Carrying the mask into the kitchen, she put it on the counter before approaching the now silent phone. She pushed the button which would reveal to her who had called. "Toby!" she said, smiling. She hadn't spoken to him for six months, at least. Picking up the phone, she quickly dialed the number of his dorm at school. She heard the distant _ring_ from the other line, waiting for her brother to pick up. At length, he did.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Toby! Sorry I missed your call; I had a slight mishap going down the stairs," she said, eyeing the mask upon the counter.

She heard his voice laugh mockingly. "You're so clumsy, Sarah. Wish I could've seen you fall."

"Shut up, Toby," she said, annoyed. "Don't you have something better to say to me?"

"Oh yeah," he said. "I was just gonna let you know that I'm coming to live with you for the summer."

"What?" This was the first time Sarah had heard this news. "What about Aunt Charlene? Aren't you staying with her?"

"Nah," he said casually. "She and Uncle Brad are going to Sicily for a couple months to visit some friends. I'd just be in the way."

"Oh," said Sarah. "I suppose it'd be fine for you to stay here, then. When'll you be coming?"

"Uh...next week, I think? Oh, um...Hang on a sec."

Sarah heard the phone being set down noisily, then a muffled laugh of the female distinction. _Oh Lord_, Sarah grimaced. Her fifteen-year-old brother already had a girl in his _boy's only_ dormitory. This was certainly something she would have preferred not to know. She was about to put down the receiver, but was stopped when she heard Toby's voice.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was unusually gentle, far from the clipped sarcastic tone he generally used with Sarah. She felt like she was invading his privacy, but was too curious to stop listening. Besides, she needed to be able to hear him when he came back to their conversation.

A soft feminine voice spoke to him. "I want you to come back with me, Toby. You've been once, why are you so afraid of coming back?"

Sarah frowned. _Come back to where?_

"You know my answer, Jez," his distant voice sounded torn. "Now go away."

Sarah heard nothing for a moment, and then Toby's voice was back on the line. "Um, Sarah, sorry about that. Door-to-door salesman, you know. Took me a minute to get rid of him." He sounded tired.

Sarah was silent a moment. She wasn't sure what to say. He was lying to her, and he didn't do that often. Something serious was going on, but of course she couldn't just ask him about it.

Toby's voice filled the awkward silence with an even more awkward phrase. "So, yeah. School ends in two days, so after that I'll take the first bus home...That sound good?"

Sarah nodded, then remembered he couldn't see her. "Yes, that sounds good to me. We'll have fun," she added, a worried smile passing across her face.

"Yeah," Toby muttered distractedly. "I'll see you then, I guess."

"Sure thing," Sarah said cheerfully. "Bye, Toby!"

"Bye," he said, the other line immediately disconnecting.

Sarah hung the phone up. What was that all about? He certainly hadn't seemed too pleased with that girl's appearance. And why was she so desperate to have him come back somewhere with her?

Turning around, Sarah saw the mask's empty eyes mocking her confusion. She glared at it. Picking it up, she carried it to the kitchen table. Sitting down, she held the mask in her hands, pondering it, as well as Toby's strange attitude. It wasn't too long before she had fallen asleep where she sat, the evening shadows filtering in about her.


	3. Chapter III

_Pleading Echoes_

Mask of Twilight  
  
_Chapter III_  
  
Sarah's brown eyes opened with startling speed. She had heard something, but the sound was quickly fading into the realm of dreams she had just left. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was still dark outside, the moonlight swallowed up by a fringe of clouds. She glanced about, a hand bracing her aching neck, trying to set it straight. A yawn escaped her mouth. She tried to focus on where she was, what she was doing there, and why she wasn't asleep in bed. Finally her sleep-intoxicated mind allowed her to think properly as she remembered the past day's events.  
  
She looked at the table which had served as a pillow. It was bare. Sarah scooted her chair back and ducked her head under the table, looking for the strange mask which had been there before she'd fallen asleep. It was nowhere to be found, even once Sarah's eyes adjusted to the darkness. A puzzled expression crossed her face. Where could it have gone?  
  
Physical exhaustion overcame any questions that may have continued to plague her mind. She yawned once again and stretched, intent on heading up to bed. Picking herself up, she left the kitchen and ventured into the entrance hall. As she did so, her eyes glanced at the clock, checking the hour. Ten till 1:00am.  
  
She trudged up the stairs, using the handrail to support her sleepy frame. She then entered her bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. Stumbling into bed, she kicked off her shoes and pulled the covers over her head. A few minutes later, in the twilight of consciousness, she heard the distant toll of the clock downstairs chiming the hour. One chime. Then another. But wasn't it only 1:00am? More chimes followed, and Sarah counted foggily in her head. _Three...four...five...six..seven..eight...nine...ten...eleven...twelve...thirteen..._ And then it stopped. Thirteen chimes echoed in her mind as she drifted over the edge of consciousness.

- - - - - - - - - - -

That night she dreamed. She dreamed of a dark place, possibly a room. It felt like a room. The air was close, enveloping her/him with its stale, musky scent. She/he was leaning against a wall, her/his head held in her/his hands. A trickle of blood dripped through her/his fingers, falling onto and blending into the black fabric that covered her/his legs. A thin stream of light flooded into the room from a grate in the ceiling. She/he knew it was no use to hope to use that as an escape route. It was blocked with more than metal.  
  
He/she took out a crystal, seemingly from nowhere. A laugh echoed from its confines, a distorted face mocked him/her from its surface. He/she squeezed the orb within his/her fist, threatening to break it with a hatred so vehement it could hardly be contained. A feminine voice stopped him/her with a simple, _Are you sure that's wise...?_ A grimace of pain and hatred crossed his/her face, aimed at the metaphysical voice. He/she knew he/she had no choice but to do what his/her captor wished, despite his/her almost equal hatred for the recipient of the task he/she was about to perform. He/she was used to this now, and besides, this was the only thing that allowed him/her to escape his/her prison. It was his/her window, even if the view tormented him.

- - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Sarah woke up to sunlight stroking her eyelids. She blinked a few times and yawned, her mouth tasting like cotton. She rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Her grumpy face greeted her from the mirror. She unhappily flicked water in its direction before grabbing her toothbrush and scrubbing her teeth viciously.  
  
Following a shower and a breakfast of cold cereal, Sarah headed outside to her car. She pulled her keys out of her jacket and stuck them in the lock. As she opened the door, she looked up at the house nextdoor. Mrs. Stafford sat on the front porch in a decrepit rocking chair, a pipe held precariously between her gums. She wasn't looking at Sarah, but at the top of Sarah's house. A tree was tottering near the attic window, its branches scraping the siding.

"Yeh migh' wanna pull that tree dawn," the old lady's voice crackled across the air. "We'ah fixin' to have a storm soon."  
  
Sarah looked back at Mrs. Stafford with a polite smile. "That's a good idea, thank you. I didn't notice that tree was so close to falling down." She looked at the sky, which was as clear as it should be on a late spring day. There was no sign of rain, let alone a storm. She'd get to the tree within the next few days. Maybe Toby could help her once he arrived.  
  
She waved goodbye to her neighbor and sat down in her car, turning the key in the ignition. Glancing behind her, she backed her car out of the driveway, then drove down the street.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

That night, a storm _did_ strike the small community and its neighbors. Sarah sat at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich made from ingredients purchased at the store that afternoon. She ate steadily, paying no heed to the wind's howls, or the rain's beating upon the windowpanes. She did jump slightly at the first boom of thunder, and she smiled sheepishly at herself for doing so. She recalled being scared of storms as a child, but of course she was past all that now.  
  
Finishing her sandwich, she stood up and emptied her plate into the sink. A garish flash of lightning startled her eyes. The storm was getting worse.  
  
"Well, I guess ol' Mrs. Stafford was right," she chuckled to herself, mocking the old woman. "Naw, missy! Watch that ol' tree, ya he'ah?" She was still laughing when she heard a loud _crack_ issue from the right side of the house, followed by an even louder _crunch_ coming from the attic. Eyes wide, Sarah rushed upstairs, then to the even higher level of the attic.  
  
Rain poured in through a considerable hole in the roof and the adjoining wall. The tree's topmost branches were now in the attic, dripping water and pine needles everywhere. Sarah's eyes scoured the room, searching for anything she could do to help the situation. An array of boxes and trunks sat in the middle of a puddle quickly forming on the attic flooring. Sarah frantically began picking them up and moving them out of harm's way. The wind flung rainwater in her face, drenching her and making it difficult to see. She, however, was not distracted from her task.  
  
The boxes were finally pulled to safety, and it was to Sarah's good fortune that one of them contained an old vinyl tarp. Stretching it over the hole, she tacked it down with some difficulty, allowing little to no rain to enter the semi-flooded attic.  
  
"Whoo!" Sarah wiped her face with her drenched sleeve, then sighed, realizing it didn't help. So, she resorted to twisting strands of her hair in her fists, causing water to drip onto the floor. She listened to the rain for a moment before making her way over to the boxes she'd just rescued. "Time to see if any of this junk was worth the effort." Opening the first one, she sorted through some wet clothes of her step-mother's. Luckily, they weren't damaged. The next box contained some old books of her father's, which, though a little water-wrinkled, were salvagable.  
  
The third box which came into view she recognized as one of her own. It was an old wooden trunk she used to keep in her room. It hadn't been there since...oh, since her first year of high school. Curious as to what the trunk contained, Sarah shifted into a more comfortable position on the damp attic floor. She placed a stray lock of hair behind her ear before releasing the clasp. With some trepidation, she opened the trunk. A slight intake of breath slid past her lips as she peered at the contents. She hadn't even thought of any of this stuff _(junk) _in years.  
  
Carefully, she lifted out a box, which made a slight rattling noise. She gently blew dust off the lid, revealing a faded picture of a maze. She opened the box, freeing the wooden game of pegs and passageways from its prison.  
  
_(Where is the door?...)_

Placing the box to one side, she pulled out a thin storybook. She smiled, reading the familiar title, "Where the Wild Things Are." She had loved this book when she was young. Her father would always read it to her before bedtime.  
  
_(See? You're not so scary after all, huh, Ludo?...)  
_  
Her hand dove back into the box, taking out a stuffed animal of a fox dressed in medieval clothing. She hugged it briefly before moving on.  
  
_(You did it, Sir Didymus! You are very brave...)  
_  
Bookends reached her curious hands next. Wooden carvings stood on each of them, shaped like a dwarf, it seemed, though it was hard to tell through the warpings of time. Or perhaps they'd always been so distorted.  
  
_(And this is my friend, Hoggle...)  
_  
In putting the bookends back, she heard a iclang/i of metal, followed by a muffled tinkering sound. She searched through the trunk, looking for the source of the sound. A familiar music box touched her fingers. She pulled it out with a sort of reverence, reminiscing in the soft tune it struggled to play. Her eyes smiled lovingly on the little figurine twirling in the center, the girl in the white dress looking strangely like herself.  
  
_(But I'll be there for you...As the world falls down...)_  
  
She twisted the key in the bottom of the music box abruptly, leaving the room in silence. Complete silence, but for the distant raindrops. "But I could have sworn..." Her voice trailed off, sounding strange against the muffled air. A voice had seemed to accompany the music of the box, a sweet, long-forgotten voice.  
  
Frowning, Sarah replaced the music box within the trunk, along with everything else she'd displaced. But her curiosity still kept her captivated with the treasures before her. An old medieval costume lay folded at the bottom, one she'd often played dress-up in. And beneath it...She lifted the little red book out from the trunk. She flipped through its pages, causing a tiny maelstrom of dust to swirl about her. She tried to keep from sneezing, as the book automatically flipped to the last page.  
  
_(Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great...)  
_  
"You have no power over me." Sarah's voice finished the sentence her memory had begun. But her voice sounded weak and broken, so unlike the resonating power and determination it had once held.


End file.
